For a second, I can’t speak. The lump in my throat catches so hard I have to swallow the choking feeling.
“Yeah,” I say finally, forcing a small sound that could pass as a laugh if you weren’t paying attention. “It wasn’t great.”
Her excitement morphs into confusion. “Wait—what happened?”
I stare down at my tea, watching it swirl in the mug, and my eyes prick at the memory of the last time he’d made me a cup of this. “He got a job.”
“That’s great,” she says, automatically. “Right? That’s what he’s been—”
“In California,” I interrupt, the words coming out flat.
There’s a beat of silence. Then, gently, “Oh.”
“Yeah.” I trace the rim of the mug with my thumb, the motion keeping my hands busy. “He’s moving in January.”
“Oh, Liv…”
“It’s fine.” I hate how small my voice sounds, how rehearsed. “It’s great for him. He’s happy.”
She sighs softly, the kind that says she doesn’t believe me. “I thought you were going to tell him you wanted to stay in the apartment. That you were done pretending it was temporary.”
“Yeah, well.” My laugh cracks in the middle. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t.”
“Liv—”
“I just need to keep moving,” I say quickly, before she can push further. “Campus Housing Hub emailed again about the new dorms. I think I’m going to take it early. The office is open today.”
The silence on the other end stretches. “Do you want me to come help?”
“Yes,” I croak, begging my emotions to stay together. “I think I need you to.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter fifty-one
Jay
Knockingonthedoorto my manager’s office feels surreal, and handing him my notice feels even more surreal. Walking out of the apartment this morning without a kiss from Liv felt wrong, though. I almost knocked on her door, but it’s clear she needed a little time to process everything.
“California, huh?” my boss says, leaning back in his chair. “That’s big, Oliviera. Congratulations. We’ll miss you here.”
“Thanks,” I manage, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
He keeps talking—something about final projects, timelines, exit paperwork—but the words blur. My mind’s already elsewhere.
I spend the rest of the day going through the motions. Editing photos I won’t be here to deliver. Clearing old folders. Checking emails. Every mundane task feels like a placeholder for something I’m not ready to face. I still have a month’s worth of bookings to get through before I leave, but none of that matters.
By lunchtime, I’ve checked my phone more times than I can count. Nothing from her. No text or missed call.
I try to tell myself she’s just busy, that she needs space, but each hour that passes makes it harder to believe.
By four, I can’t take it anymore. I step outside, the cold biting through my jacket, and call her. The line rings out until her voicemail greets me, instead.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. “Can you just call me when you get this? Please, I miss you and... I really want to talk to you.”
When I hang up, my thumb hovers over the screen for a second longer than it should. I almost text her, but what would I even say?I miss you even though you’re still here?
Back inside, the afternoon drags. My coworkers chat around me, someone laughs near the printer, and the faint smell of burned coffee clings to the air. It’s all normal. Except nothing feels normal.
